


Clouds

by moriamithril



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Being Human Be Like That, F/M, Jealousy is Petty but, Stubborn Idiot Spies to Lovers, Yearning, so much yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26390245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriamithril/pseuds/moriamithril
Summary: As Cassian Andor's new assistant in Rebellion espionage, you're assigned to accompany him on missions to defeat the Empire. It's when new feelings bloom that you question your ability to do your job.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Reader, Cassian Andor/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	Clouds

The Main Base of the Rebellion was unusually quiet - no dust clouds swirling around your ankles kicked up from foot traffic, no bustle of pilots headed towards the hangars. And yet the atmosphere hummed around you like an underlying energy, alive and omnipresent despite the silence. 

As your tunic clung to your chest, damp with sweat, you stood in the hangar of the base, hand draped over your brows to block the sunlight pouring in. You felt eager to leave, to find some relief in the climate-controlled ship from the early morning heat, already gaining strength in the early hours, but dread sank in your belly. Despite everything you’d seen since joining the Rebellion, you still felt anxious to meet your captain. 

You’d been called from your duties with the Rebellion with intelligence strategy, being offered to assist Captain Andor on espionage missions. It was an immense honor, considering his reputation. Cassian Andor was a respected Captain, a man married to the Rebellion, and rumored to be incredibly handsome, which aided him successfully in his work. Proving yourself to be adaptable and capable of taking orders was your aim. 

You recalled the conversation you had with Senator Organa and Commander Mothma when they proposed the promotion. 

“We came to the conclusion that it would be more streamlined if someone was present to keep intelligence compartmentalized,” the general had explained, folding her hands in front of her. “The Captain hasn’t failed us yet, but it’s a flawed system, relying solely on his memory alone to retrieve information.”

“Have you considered a droid?” you asked, immediately shaking your head, squinting with humiliation. “I mean, I’m sure you have, I don’t mean that it’s droid work, and I mean absolutely no offense to droids -”

“Not at all,” the senator replied. “And you’re correct. But in these sorts of scenarios, droids sometimes suffer disadvantages, whether it be trust or programming. They say logic and intellect serves best, but emotion is equally as important. Having the ability to feel what’s happening is imperative.”

“Of course,” you’d responded, nodding fervently. “I understand that completely.”

Movement interrupted your reverie; Cassian’s wasn’t a grand entrance. You heard shuffled feet, and spun around to see Cassian Andor shoulder around the ship, swinging a pack in front of him and onto the ramp. 

“Uh, hello,” you said, smiling awkwardly, standing alert as he searched his bag for something. 

You gave him your name, and he finally stopped to look at you. 

“Yes, I know,” he replied quietly. “I just need a moment to find my data-pad; it’s got the codes to the ship and navigation -“

“Oh, I’ve got mine right here,” you chirped, grateful for an opportunity to be useful as you reached for it in your hip satchel. “The commander sent me over everything, so I just spent a bit of time going over it.”

“Thank you,” he said in a clipped tone, and your heart sank a bit in disappointment as he continued to dig through his things. “That’s good. I still need mine.”

“Of course,” you said, face already on fire with embarrassment. 

It was the first time you’d seen the infamous captain up-close; his face was unshaven, and dark hair fell into his eyes as he occasionally shook his head to one side, flinging it from his line of vision. He was, as the legends had it, strikingly handsome. 

He huffed out in delayed satisfaction, shoulder-deep in the rucksack, when he retrieved the device. He didn’t look up from it as he spoke. 

“I’m glad you’ve come prepared.”

“Of course,” you repeated weakly, clutching the strap of your bag. 

“Here,” he muttered, tossing the bag onto his back before ascending the ramp and punching the numbers he read from the screen on the pad by the door. It hissed open and you ducked, it swung over your heads, and Cassian held an arm out for you. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, captain,” you offered lightly, nodding as you walked past him. 

“Cassian will do,” he said. “Unless I say otherwise.”

That was one morsel of information your reports didn’t provide; Cassian went by aliases often. Which one he’d be going by, you wouldn’t know until he told you. 

It was a very standardized cargo freighter; not uncomfortably small, but not unnecessarily large. Neither of you had to duck to walk about, which was already a plus. You walked in a small circle, taking in the space that would be home for the indefinite future. 

You stood anxiously as you watched Cassian bring the small cargo ship to life - he punched in coordinates into the navigation system, and tossed his pack at the foot of a set of bunks behind the cockpit. 

“I’ll let you choose what’s comfortable,” he told you, nodding towards the stacked bed in the wall before turning away to sit in the pilot’s chair. 

“Which do you prefer?” you asked, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. You were determined not to get in his way. 

He didn’t answer right away, instead flipped switches above his head, likely warming the ignition system and fuel injectors before firing the ship up completely. 

“It makes no difference to me,” he finally said. 

You were certain Cassian wouldn’t prefer to go to bed as early as you did. 

“I’ll take the top,” you breathed. Shoving your bag onto the mattress just above your head, you made your way for the cockpit, joining him in the passenger seat. “Can we go over things before we leave?”

“We leave for Malian - I have an informant there. We’re looking for details in regards to Samovar.”

He refused to look at you, instead starting the engine to fill the silence.

“Right. There’s reason to believe the Empire wants to mine for doonium,” you said tartly. Hadn’t you said you’d gone over the reports? “And so they’ll have to strip it of legacy status. So, what’s my assignment?”

Cassian took a deep breath and side-eyed you, looking you over from his peripheral as his attention remained on the ship. 

“That’s correct. We need to try to find out how they plan to do so. Your job is to stay close and keep your head low,” he said. “If you watch out for yourself, that’s less work for me.”

You nodded solemnly, only to assure him that you understood. 

-

Your first trip was to Malian, and it seemed as if Cassian mapped the layout to suit your experience; it lacked a feeling of imminent danger. 

Cassian possessed an air of aplomb you hadn’t anticipated from the captain. You knew he was dedicated and otherwise stoic off the bat, but there was a subtle and effortless nonchalance about him when the ship was in motion and there was nothing to do but wait. 

You landed two miles from a small village, where Cassian had intel. The morning after arriving, you woke to him pulling on a long sleeve shirt, creamed colored and square weaved. 

You sat up from your top bunk, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms. 

“Wear something with layers,” Cassian said when he noticed you were awake, sounding more harassed than he had since meeting him. “It’s cold now, but it won’t be by the time we reach the market.”

“All right,” you said blearily. “So, I’m coming with you?”

He stopped moving completely, giving you an impatient look as the gelfruit bar he’d just unwrapped dangled from his grip. 

“Of course you are,” he admonished. “Speak to no one besides me. If anyone asks, which they will not, you’re my wife.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and something like bashfulness bloomed in your chest.

“And our names?” you pressed. 

“This is a very low-key operation,” he explained, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Anything but my name. But it’s too under the radar to try and remember aliases. If you need to call out for me, ‘darling’ works just fine. Is that all right?”

He looked slightly amused, his eyebrows raised, which set you at ease. You let out a huff of laughter, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair. 

“Sounds good,” you replied. “I just need to get changed.”

“Right. I’ll meet you outside.”

Abandoning his rucksack for a small wicker basket with a strap, he ducked into the doorway and disappeared. 

Cassian was right; you walked the two miles into the village in near-silence, offering him some of your food when you stopped to retrieve some semblance of breakfast from your hip bag part way through your journey as the sun began to beat down relentlessly. You both peeled off your thermal shirts and stuffed them into Cassian’s basket, sporting thin undershirts instead. 

The market was very small, only stretching the count of maybe ten tents. 

“Let’s browse,” Cassian said into your ear, grasping your arm gently. “Stay close and try not to speak.”

You gave him a warm, casual smile and nodded, hoping to demonstrate that you were able to slip into character. 

He did a convincing job at sticking his hands in his pockets, strolling along and peeking at the wares with waning interest. You nearly stopped in your tracks when you noticed a baker with a basket filled with buttersweet puffs - a treat you hadn’t had since your mother would bake them, before the tax on ingredients increased. 

Cassian tapped your boot with his, signaling to you without a glance to keep moving. He stopped at a booth almost towards the end, and began to point at different fruits. 

You kept a believable distance, and though you could hardly make out conversation, you were certain Cassian was speaking with the person he’d come here for. 

After a brief exchange, he clutched the bag of food to his chest, tucking it under his arm, and pulled you away from other shoppers. 

“Is there anything else you’d like, love?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and placing a light hand on the small of your back. 

In spite of yourself, of your fierce dedication to the Rebellion, it was immensely difficult to separate yourself from the role you were meant to be playing alongside your superior in that moment. Cassian gazed at you as if you were the only person in the market, with such a believable affection in his expression, lips parted and not taut as usual, but full and so alluring that your stomach fluttered. Drawing in a deep breath and blinking, you shook your head. 

“I can’t think of anything in particular,” you whispered hoarsely, clearing your throat, and he followed your words with a nod as his hand fell away. 

“Let’s get these out of the sun, then,” he said, gesturing towards his bag. 

-

Later that evening, after walking back in the heat of the afternoon, you sat on top of your bunk, a towel wrapped around your damp hair after a quick shower in the closet-sized fresher. 

Cassian’s informant had only confirmed what the Rebellion had been assuming; the Empire was strategizing ways to skirt around Samovar’s legacy status that exempted it from harvesting and mining, preserving its resources. How they were planning to do that, Cassian’s informant had not provided. 

“They’re building a weapon,” you said bluntly after he’d gone over what the merchant had told him for the third time, at your instance. “This feels urgent.”

“That is a safe assumption, and yes, there is not time to waste,” Cassian replied with a defeated sigh, balancing his data pad on his crossed leg from the small chair at the table where you ate. “However, we can only do so much without getting killed.” He paused, glancing at you before letting his gaze fall back to the screen. “You did well this morning.”

“Thanks,” you said, snapping your head up to look at him as you felt your cheeks heat. In an attempt to brush it off, you added, “I know I’m good with strategy, but I never imagined espionage.”

Cassian gave you a quizzical look, shrugging. 

“It’s about self-preservation; if you’re smart, it will be easy. You’ve shown the Rebellion you’re capable. And you’re an attractive young woman,” he said matter of factly, like it was obvious, “that takes care of most of the work.”

A bubble formed in your throat, making it difficult to breathe, and you clutched your data pad tightly as you pretended to study the object. 

“I don’t know about that -“ 

“Modesty isn’t useful. These things will help you if you’re going to be doing this sort of work for the Rebellion. Use it to your advantage,” he said assertively. 

You looked at him for a moment. “Is that what you do?” you asked slowly, remembering the way he’d looked at you in the market. 

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” he sighed, squinting at his screen. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

-

Cassian was meticulous. 

He woke every morning at the same time, not wasting a moment unwrapping a gelfruit bar, going over holo messages, and checking the diagnostics of the ship. He’d greet you with little nods, not speaking much. 

On your forth morning on planet, you made your caf, offering him some. The two of you had remained parked on Malian because the merchant informant promised Cassian more details in the very near future; wasting the fuel to leave only to return made little sense, so the two of you kept to yourselves. 

“I think if I let myself drink with you regularly, I won’t be able to go without,” he joked, holding a tin cup to his lips. 

You watched him move slowly for once - normally, he seemed not to float through the galaxy but rush. Seeing him rest made you feel more relaxed, and you tried to absorb the more soothing energy that permeated the atmosphere while it lasted. 

“Hopefully we visit someplace where we can stock up,” you said, “the market here is lacking.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Right. Today I meet with the merchant for the last time - we should leave afterwards. Though, I think it would be less suspect if I returned there alone.”

“All right,” you said. “I’ve got some messages to respond to.”

Setting the mug on the small table beside the bench, he stood, patting his vest as he checked for something. 

“If you want to arrange a report for the commander, we can finalize when I return with details on our next stop. I’ll be back later.”

You managed to nap a bit while he was gone, and tidied up the ship, littered with things the two of you haphazardly tossed around. It was beginning to feel sort of like a home of sorts, even after a few days. You paused when you came to his coat; fur-lined and thick, it hung from a protruding screw behind the cockpit, and it smelled of him. 

What am I doing? you thought as you leaned against the soft garment, tracing your thumb over the cool buttons. You inhaled shallowly, almost apprehensively, and it was him. You couldn’t even break down the elements of what made it Cassian, but you’re stomach flipped, just as it had in the market, and you released the coat from your slight grasp. 

He was doing his job, he was making sure the two of you weren’t discovered and killed, you chided yourself. It was nothing more. 

You were lying in the top bunk when he returned, watching holo messages of an underground news outlet, night stretching over the landscape outside. 

“Any luck?” you asked, rolling your head towards the door as he shuffled inside, heat pricking your cheeks as a cold breeze drafted in behind him; you thought of his coat, and shame washed over you. 

He sighed, dropping another bag of what looked like fruit on the bench behind the cockpit. From his coat pocket, he retrieved another small, paper bag. 

“Nothing about the legacy status; that might need to be put on the back burner. But he’s heard more on the invasion on Kashyyyk; we need to track down an Imperial commander, Ura Autten. She’s an architect and designed the prison camps, and is preparing a holiday for leisure,” he spat bitterly, “not only will she know which planet they’re hoping to invade next, but she may know something about Samovar. We need to go to Jakku at once to speak with an informant there who might know where she’s spending her trip.” 

You noticed he looked deflated; purple bags hung under his eyes, and he looked pale beneath his dark hair. 

“Here,” he said, and he reached his arm up to tuck the little bag beside you. “I’m going to shower, if you don’t need the fresher.”

“I’m all set; what’s this?” you said curiously, plucking the bag from where he dropped it next to your hips as you sat up slightly. 

“Something we might not see again for a bit,” he said as he shrugged out of his coat, draping it over the pilot’s chair. “Thought you might like it before we go.”

Without another word, he crossed the ship and headed for the back where the fresher was, letting the door slide shut behind him. 

Peering into the bag, you discovered a buttersweet puff, powdered sugar still sprinkled on top. 

Warmth spread over your chest as you closed the bag quickly, as if to conceal a secret. 

“Thanks, Cassian,” you whispered after he crawled into the bottom bunk much later. 

You felt him settling in, his breathing adjusting to finally slowing down. The little reading light clicked off, and the ship became noticeably darker. 

“Think nothing of it,” he replied lightly. 

Interesting choice of words, you thought immediately, realizing you were doing quite the opposite. 

-

Less than a day later the two of you landed on Jakku, and you dreaded the walk through the desert into the city. 

You’d filled up two canteens of water, letting each sack hang from your shoulders before you left, but hardly anything could have prepared you for the almost unbearable heat of the desert. After nearly an hour of walking, you groaned. 

“You don’t seem to mind the heat,” you noted through ragged breath, the sand making walking quickly more difficult. 

Your boot sank and dragged behind you before you laboriously hoisted it back up again, one in front of the other. 

“It’s not preferable,” he muttered, trudging beside you. “But I’ve fared worse than the weather.”

Feeling stupid for complaining, you let your gaze drop back down to your boots as a cluster of buildings appeared on the horizon. 

“That wasn’t meant to invalidate our discomfort,” he said through a small laugh as he noticed your quiet shame, and you couldn’t help smiling back when his lips curled. “I’d prefer coat weather.”

You pictured him in his jacket, the fur lining stark grey against his dark eyes. 

“So do I,” you agreed softly. 

The cantina was not so much an enclosed shelter but a large tent, though you were grateful for the shade nonetheless. 

“We’re traders,” Cassian reminded you, leaning close as his eyes scanned the bar. “Just passing through.”

You nodded, allowing him to lead you towards a seat at the counter. The man drying pint glasses behind it was incredibly tall and broad, traits that seemed stark in contrast to a very kind and relaxed face. 

“Just a moment, you two,” he called out in your direction, not looking up from his work. 

“No trouble,” Cassian assured him. 

He swiveled on his stool so that he was facing you, and your knee slid between his legs as he leaned over to speak into your ear amongst the almost deafening ripple of conversation coming from the cantina. 

“Do not speak; pay very close attention. I need you to remember details in case any imps arrive.”

“And if they do?”

“Just stay close to me. We ought to be fine, but avoiding being seen is always good. Understand?” 

You locked eyes with his very brown ones, and, for a fleeting moment, with his face so close to yours, you felt the breath leave your lungs. 

You nodded as you turned your stool back towards the bar, dragging your knee against his thigh to bring your legs back out in front of you.

The very last thing you needed, especially now, was some ridiculous attraction to your captain. At least I’m not the only one, you thought as you grasped at any logic pertaining to the subject. He even knows it himself. 

The bartender snapped the dish rag over his shoulder and, with a very neutral expression, placed his palms down on the slightly sticky surface of the counter, looking directly at Cassian. 

“How might I help you?”

You tried not to watch so keenly as the two men both tried to have a silent conversation, as if scanning one another for non-verbal cues. Cassian dug into his vest pocket and retrieved credits before letting them drop between them. 

“Just some chi'ffa with ice, if you’ve got it, for my partner and I. A friend on Malian recommended we try some if we ever made it Jakku; if his taste is as exceptional as his fruit, I’m certain we’ll enjoy it,” Cassian effused, grinning more broadly than you’d ever seen him. 

The barman’s eyes glimmered as he slapped a palm over the payment, pulling it towards him as he scooped it into his other hand. 

“Gladly,” he boomed, setting the credits away before reaching for two clean glasses. He worked at what felt like too slow of a pace, almost as if the universe had him moving in slow motion. When he slid over the drinks, ice clinking and swirling within, he smiled. “Enjoy the break from the suns. A day like this almost makes you wish you were on Hoth, wouldn’t you say so?”

Cassian’s returning smile was almost boyish. 

“My colleague and I were just wishing on our way into town how we’d prefer cooler temperatures,” he remarked brightly. 

You and Cassian drank in unison, the sweetened herbal drink filling your body with an instant shock of relief. 

“There’s plenty more, but we’re about to get a lunch rush,” the bartender said in a more hushed voice. “Stay cool, my friends,” he added, not looking at you, but eyeing the door to your backs. 

You almost startled a bit when Cassian grasped your hand just holding the glass, his skin very warm against your cold palm. 

“Now,” he whispered, and his fingers entwined between yours, folding against your knuckles as he led you to a small flap in the tent beside the bar. 

A flashing glimpse showed a line of Stormtroopers sauntering into the front entrance, but you were out past the canvas, hand still in Cassian’s before you could count how many. 

He walked briskly, still leading you back towards the ship as you passed behind several tents before you dared to speak. 

“We’re going to Hoth,” you stated. 

Even as the town began to shrink behind you, Cassian did not release your hand. 

“And to think, we were only just talking about coat weather. I hope you’ve brought one.”

“Of course I did,” you attested, puffing your chest out. 

“Always prepared,” he deadpanned, but he turned his head to look at you, a crooked smile curling on his lips. 

-

Your eyes bled with hot tears as the frigid winds whipped violently. You brought a gloved hand to pinch the hood over your hand and braces against the elements, Cassian moving a bit slower behind you. 

“At least this was worth it,” he called out over your shoulder. “Only a few more moments before we’re back at the ship.”

A refugee from a prison camp had been hiding out on Hoth; a prison guard deserted his post on Kashyyyk and was rescued by the Alliance, and it took visiting the ice planet to speak with him; sending out messages would risk their protection. He’d been a high-ranking officer and exceptionally close to Autten, and he knew she’d be on Bespin. 

Perhaps it was your recent trudging through the snow and sand, but by the time you and Cassian returned to the ship, your body ached. Your neck screamed in pain, supposedly too weak to do its task of holding your head up. 

You sat at the bench with your face in your hands, thinking about making an herbal infusion, when you felt Cassian sit beside you. 

“We need something more nourishing than nutri bars,” he chided, and when you peeked from behind your fingers, he was looking at you with concern. “I’ll heat up some canned soup, there’s a few cans in the med kit. To the fresher with you.”

The captain in him was showing; he was assertive and confident as he wrapped his hands around your arms, gently guiding you to your feet. 

“It’s too cold to shower,” you mumbled uselessly. 

“I’ve just started the engine, it will be warmer in no time. Take a hot shower and put on socks - dry ones. We’ll eat when you’re finished.”

He gave you a curt nod outside the fresher door, not leaving any room for you to argue. 

The water felt so welcoming that you wanted to cry; it was there, naked and trying your best to stand upright that you accepted that you were sick with something. With a pained expression, you dried off amongst the steam, pulling on clean thermals and, obeying Cassian’s orders, a pair of very wooly socks. When you emerged from the fresher, Cassian was busy at the table.

Your head swam in a haze of discomfort as he brought you by the shoulders to the bench seat, helping you sit and dragging a bowl of something warm. You cupped it with your hands and the heat seeped into your skin.

“Try to eat, drink,” he instructed firmly. “I’ll take care of the report. I’ll be back to check on you, but I’m flying us to Makem Te for fuel and to get out of the coming storm.”

“Thank you,” you croaked. 

Your arms were heavy as you brought the spoon to your lips, letting the hot soup warm you as best it could. If anything, it was soothing against your throat that began to sting with pain each time you swallowed. Shame prickled through you as you remembered the vow that you made to yourself before departing with Cassian; to be adaptable. The very last thing you wanted to do was get in the way.

After you ate, you slumped onto the table, burying your face in your arm as you felt certain you could fall asleep there.

“Bed,” you heard Cassian whisper as his hands once again grasped your arms. “I’ll get the fever reducer. Lie down.”

Just as the idea of clambering up your ladder to your bunk made you audibly whimper, Cassian pressed a hand to your back, encouraging you to bend as he urged you into his.

“I’m sorry,” you squeaked. “I never get sick.”

“Everyone does,” he shot back, and you faintly heard shuffling after he brought the rough but warm blanket over you. “Here.”

You blinked, and held out your palm as he dropped three tablets into your hand. Taking the canteen of water with your other, you plopped them on your tongue and took an agonizing sip. 

Falling back into the pillow, engulfed in a smell that reminded you of his coat, of the way you felt when he put his hand on your back in the market, of the way his hand folded into yours on Jakku.

You kept your eyes firmly shut when his cool skin fell against your forehead. Cassian held it there as he spoke.

“I’m taking us to get fuel. Call for me if you need me, but don’t get up. You will be better by tomorrow afternoon.”

It was then that you let your very heavy eyelids, leadened with fever, close completely and sleep took you entirely. 

It could have been moments or hours later that you woke, startled by being in Cassian’s bunk but too trapped beneath the crushing weight of your ailment to even let it fully register in your mind. The owner of the bed sat in a metal chair beside you, and you watched him silently through a fog of searing pain in your throat and head as he flicked through a holobook, the blue light illuminating his eyes. 

He must have sensed you; his eyes lifted from the device and his face lit up into alertness. 

He moved quickly, nearly leaping from the chair as it grated against the floor and he sunk to one knee, letting a cool hand fall onto your forehead again. 

“Better,” he huffed in relief, “but you need fluids. You’re drenched.”

He knelt down at his ankles somewhere and began to unscrew the lid to your water. You let your head roll from one side to the other very gently; it hurt to do so, but you noticed the sweat sticking to your hair and his pillow. 

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced as a wave of humiliation washed over you, “I should move to my bed; you should sleep or you’ll get sick, too -“

“Drink,” he ordered, and he held your canteen to your lips as one of his hands tucked beneath your head, lifting it up. “And stay where I’ve put you. I’ll sleep above you, I just wanted to make sure your fever broke. Can you fall back asleep? Do you need more pain relief?”

He said all of this very stolidly, not deviating from the captain role he’d taken since you began displaying signs of getting sick. But his eyes, you noticed, even in your state of weakness, were very soft, almost concerned. 

“I can sleep,” you whispered. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Why are you calling me that now?” he asked, almost defensively. 

“Because it’s what you are,” you replied. “You’re very good at this. Keeping order, I mean. Thank you.”

“This isn’t related to the Rebellion,” he said roughly, brows furrowing together as he sat back in his chair, retrieving the holobook from the floor. “You’re sick; I’m here to care for you until you’re well. You would surely do the same for me. We’re partners, aren’t we?”

Your eyelids fell shut against your will, but you managed a weak smile. 

“Yes,” you whispered back. “I would do this for you.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he sighed. And when he said goodnight, he used your name. 

The fever raged in your head until you fell back asleep, but you managed to reimagine how his hand had felt on the back of your head, and your stomach sunk as you realized what you had waved off as simple admiration for Cassian Andor might as well be called what it truly was: an infatuation. 

-

The hangar in Bespin you landed in was bustling with so much activity, it felt harmless to be lost in the middle of it; surely if you’d parked on the outskirts and walked, you’d be drawing more attention to yourselves. In the non-descript cargo freighter, the two of you passed easily as traders, and you prepared for your mission with relative ease. 

“I’ve just heard from Mothma,” Cassian said with a considerable level of animation. “Our agents here have Autten tracked. She’s been frequenting a restaurant in Cloud City.”

You were grateful for the more proper options from your wardrobe that were neatly tucked into your rucksack; you’d been prepared for situations that called for nicer attire than your day to day garb. You wondered what Cassian had to wear. 

“I should get ready,” you began, but Cassian shook his head. 

“There is a symphony this evening she’s attending, and it’s too late for us to obtain tickets. We’ll plan to be at the restaurant tomorrow.” He sank into the booth, letting his head fall back against the wall with a gentle thud. “I think it’s wise to stay here tonight, if you can manage being cooped up.”

Cassian, proficient and sensible, surely had no idea how content you were to be cooped up with him. The morning after you woke from your cold, your throat still stung and your bones felt feeble, but you were worlds better and no longer had a temperature. The only thing lingering terribly from the day and night before was the awareness that Cassian was perhaps more than a Rebellion hero in your heart.

“That’s fine,” you said, forcing casualness into your tone, “but I do want some fresh air. I think I’m going to sit on the top of the ship.”

You hadn’t been to Bespin in ages, but you wouldn’t miss the opportunity to watch a sunset. 

Cassian’s eyes darted between yours and the roof hatch, and gave you a lopsided grin that flipped your stomach.

“Would you mind company? I have some Gamorrean ale stowed away, if that helps.”

You hated the way your nerves seized in anticipation, and you nodded slowly as if to shake the feeling away.

“Please,” you groaned. “I could use that. But you need to eat,” you chided, crossing the ship towards the cabinets with your foodstuffs. “You haven’t since this morning.”

He beamed at you before rummaging through the nutri packs, arms over his head. 

“That reminds me; if you want to try that kebab cart, we should before we leave,” he said, selecting a few of the shiny bags. “We might even be able to find something more appetizing in the terminal -“

“I can hold off,” you assured him, shrugging as you gripped the ladder that led to the roof. “Eat, I’ll be up here when you’re ready.”

Rush hour came and went in the terminal, and the sky on Bespin turned to oranges and pink, blending together. You were lying on the highest point of the ship, one arm propping up your head and the other resting over your waist, and Cassian sat crossed-legged beside you.

You’d worked half your life to become useful to the Rebellion; you began piloting at fourteen, and defeating the Empire had been your sole mission. It propelled every move you made, and yet, a boundless feeling of ruination seemed to follow you, even into the dream realm. A Sense of security came in short waves and, when you broke from them, you were met with guilt; there was no room for indulging in comfort during a war, and your readiness was something you found deep satisfaction in.

As you watched the clouds swirl into one another, like waves crashing onto an inevitable shore, you wondered how you’d lived so long walking on such harsh ground, waiting to die, when you had no idea you could feel like this instead.

It was an almost volatile marriage of expectancy and want, an ache that fueled a fire inside of your belly as you sat beneath the lovely sky of Bespin beside Cassian. 

The empty bottle of ale rested at Cassian’s feet and your head only slightly swam with bubbly warmth. Peppered amongst hundreds of other ships in a busy city, beside him as his partner in comradery and war, you felt invulnerable.

“This was a good idea,” he said wistfully, and the strange longing in his voice fanned the fire inside of you. “I think I needed this.”

“I feel safe,” you said without thinking, the words tumbling from your lips. “For the first time in a very long time.”

“That’s what we’re fighting for, aren’t we?” Cassian implored, turning to look down at you. “So that everyone can feel this way?”

“Is that why you do it?” you asked quietly, and you watched his lips with abandon, hoping the creeping darkness obscured your gaze. “For the Rebellion?”

He turned his eyes back towards the amber bottle, and he tore at the paper label with his fingernail.

“I don’t know,” he chucked. “This is all I’ve ever known. Fighting for something is safe for me.”

You hummed with a gravity the clouds floating past did not possess, carefully studying Cassian’s inscrutable expression. His lashes fluttered, the only movement from his silhouette.

“That’s okay,” you murmured. “But you deserve to find that in something peaceful.”

Oh, it was a daring thing to say; you hadn’t been thinking when you said it. You hadn’t considered that he might launch into a defense of the Rebellion, cursing you for not understanding, and you were lucky when a corner of his mouth lifted into a sad smile.

“One day,” was all he said in response.

-

The following evening found you scrubbing your scalp in the shower with a vigor you normally didn’t possess. You dressed into your gown, midnight blue and almost too stiff, too new, in a flurried haze of nerves. Cassian had been pacing the ship in a fresh shirt the color of cream and tight brown slacks that tucked into his boots handsomely, so you didn’t bother rushing for the sake of time as you made sure your hair was right, even bothering to dab some paint over your eyes. If you were to be a trader tonight, it would be one of reptiable and opulent wares.

When you were as satisfied with your ensemble as you could be, you emerged from the fresher, pulling your eyebrows up expectantly as you cleared your throat.

Cassian mimicked your expression, a smirk fixing over his face. A laugh bubbled in your throat, and you both broke out into nervous laughter.

“What?” you needled, “this is appropriate, right?” 

You gestured down at yourself, cocking your head in mock outrage.

“Yes,” he breathed, and satisfaction flooded in your veins as his eyes traveled over you. “It’s just fine. So,” he cleared his throat and began to pace again, no longer looking at you. “You’ll leave first. If anyone speaks to you, keep it brief. When someone offers to buy you a drink, what do you tell them?”

“When someone offers? Why should I expect that?” you asked incredulously, pulling your clutch bag against your chest. 

Cassian’s face dropped in annoyance, and he strolled toward the dash as he powered down the utilities, leaving the two of you in the shadows as he headed for the door.

“Modesty isn’t helpful,” he reminded you, and he ushered you out the door as you took your time, lifting up your dress to watch the ramp. “Be expectant of the expected.”

“And I tell them I’m waiting for someone,” you said laboriously, turning towards him. 

“Which should be easy,” he replied, his smirk returning. “It’s not a lie.”

When you reached the city streets of Cloud City, you hailed an air taxi, grateful that one with a glass hood stopped. It was a brief and silent ride to the restaurant, giving you hardly any opportunity to watch the city come to life with lights and people walking and driving about. Perhaps it was the disguise that gave you a sense of confidence as you strutted through the past doors that glided open as you approached them, letting your gown billow behind you in the evening breeze. Perhaps it was knowing Cassian wouldn’t be far behind that made you feel assured as you slipped into a stool at the bar, flashing your teeth at the tender, ordering a Mist cocktail. You fetched your holobook from your clutch, pretending to occupy yourself with the news as you sipped your drink, and you waited.

Your gaze lifted from your scrolling when you heard a woman’s voice order a drink; you blinked, and saw a striking sight, and she was alone. Lovely, dark hair fell down her back, and her lips were painted red, accentuating her smile. It was Ura Autten, and she sat directly across the circular bar from you.

You were grateful that you didn’t turn your head instinctively when Cassian sauntered in behind you, choosing a space much closer to Autten to order his drink. He’d combed his hair back, and it took everything within you not to stare as he waited for his spirit, credit in hand, making eyes at Autten, who had already noticed him. 

It was your job to secure a description of the target, keep a lookout, and wait for Cassian’s signal. She might smile and get bored, leaving him with little information. If the Rebellion was lucky, she’d have much to discuss with the alluring stranger, a successful trader from Coruscant. You thought she’d be mad not to be swept into the latter.

Suddenly you became very interested in your holobook, determined not to watch too closely as Autten smiled lushly at Cassian, waving him over to the empty seat beside her. You drank from your glass more liberally when he leaned into her ear, whispering something, and she laughed, exposing lovely teeth and the nape of her neck. You did not miss the way he smiled - a burning lump formed in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow, realizing you had never seen his face that way before. What you’d been brushing off as nerves usurped all rational as jealousy rippled through you like acid. Not once did Cassian look at you, and he was right to stay focused. This was for the Rebellion, after all.

“That blue is fitting,” a voice said by your right, and you looked to see a man in smart robes with very tidy blonde hair lean against the bar, grinning at you. “May I offer to refill your drink? Unless I’m interrupting work.”

Laughing nervously, you silently cursed yourself for glancing at Cassian from your peripheral, whose face flashed with something as he watched you, dulling slightly before turning his attention back to Autten. 

“I’m flattered, but I’m waiting for someone,” you said politely, offering the stranger an apologetic smile. 

“My apologies,” he said, pursing his lips. “I suspected you might. Good evening.”

Without another word, he took his leave around the corner, leaving you to watch Cassian work his talents alone. 

It wasn’t another half of an hour later and part way through another cocktail, doing a rather impressive job at looking very preoccupied with your holobook that Cassian’s signal nearly startled you. Two firm raps of his knuckles sounded on the glossy counter, and you watched as he and Autten seemed to be gathering their things. 

It was your signal to leave. Draining your glass and shoving the holobook into your clutch, you slipped off the stool without giving your captain another glance. 

It was as if an invisible fist tightened around your insides; you hailed another air taxi within moments after stepping out of the restaurant and you dropped into the backseat, not bothering to seek a distraction from your holopad. You leaned your head against the bulbous glass, wishing you were back on the roof of the ship, lost in the peachy evening sky. 

You returned to a grave-like ship, silent and empty, and you undressed in a dreamlike state, pulling on leggings and an old courseweave shirt. Fishing for a sani-wipe from your rucksack, you cleaned the paint from your eyes, feeling stupid for bothering to put on any at all. 

The only solace you could muster was remembering the look on Cassian’s face when the blonde man had approached you. 

Your heart raced as you lied in the top bunk, praying to the Maker for sleep to find you. It did not come; several times, you considered leaving. It was a reckless desire; to risk being seen by the wrong people, to get lost, to jeopardize a mission was selfish. But you wished you could disappear before Cassian returned. 

Whenever that might be. 

Hours later, your face screwed up as you released a dry sob of relief when you heard his purposeful footsteps riding the ramp of the ship, the door hissing open shortly after. 

He moved carefully, clearly assuming you were asleep. 

“I’m awake, if you need the light,” you croaked, breaking through the silence. 

“Oh,” he said a little loudly, clearly startled. “I’m sorry if I woke you -“

“You didn’t,” you replied. 

“All right. Good.”

He clicked on a clamp-lamp attached to the bottom bunk, and you drew the covers over your head to offer him a semblance of privacy; normally, he’d change in the fresher, but you heard him kick off his boots and discard his shirt, letting it fall to the floor of the ship. 

He stilled his movements before clicking his teeth with his tongue. 

“Are you going to ask me how it went?” he snapped. 

Every nerve in your body stood on its head, and you found it difficult to breath. Pulling the covers back down, you frowned.

“I’m sorry? I thought we could talk in the morning. How was it?” 

“Oh, we can speak then. I’m sorry for disturbing you,” he grumbled. 

“You’re not!” you cried. “What happened?”

You felt Cassian rise from place, the bunk creaking beneath his weight as he ducked, gripping the railing of your bed so that you were eye to eye. 

“She either suspects something or prefers to play hard to get,” he groused, and he pushed away from the bunks, standing shirtless in the shadows of the ship, hands on his hips. 

“Suspects you?” you repeated incredulously. “Should we leave tonight?”

“No,” he huffed, running a hand through his hair, which fell back into place, hanging over his brow. “I highly doubt it. She seemed very interested.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” you scoffed. “So why would she be suspicious?”

“How?” he questioned sharply. “How could you tell?”

“I mean, she just seemed receptive,” you said, adjusting your tone. “She didn’t tell you anything?”

“She’s more clever than that. She’s invited me to see her again once she returns to Coruscant.”

The compliment he paid her stung enough; the invitation was just salt in the wound. 

“Oh,” you said witlessly. “Oh, well. You’ve made the connection, that’s an important step. Did you -“ you stopped yourself, and his head snapped around to look at you. 

“What?” he demanded. 

You wriggled from place, sitting up on your elbows. 

“Did you two leave the restaurant together?” you asked in a small voice. 

“Of course,” he replied, knitting his brows together. “Things were going well until she,” Cassian paused, dragging a finger and thumb over his lips as his weight shifted from one foot to the other, “she insisted she retire for the night. That’s when she gave me the details to her flat on Coruscant.” 

“So, you’ll just go there at some point and try again,” you said flatly, hardly able to contain the irritation in your tone. “Surely you don’t mind.”

“And what do you mean by that?” he nagged. 

You sat upright, pushing the sheets from your legs to face Cassian in the dark ship, feeling ridiculous for arguing in sleep clothes. 

“I meant, this is what you do, Cassian. We’ve been to four different planets in the past couple of weeks; seeing Autten on Coruscant isn’t a wrench in the gear. I’m sorry it might take longer than you were hoping, but I’m here for the long haul; if you need to keep trying, we’ll do what we must.”

He nodded slowly, though his brows furrowed together even deeper. 

“I think we should wait,” he said, his voice rough with exhaustion. “I’m not chasing her there. I'd like to wait.”

Triumph washed over you at this, and you refused to acknowledge why. 

“Whatever’s clever, Captain,” you breathed. “I’m going to sleep.”

Lost in thought, Cassian seemed to remember you were there, and he walked closer to your bunks. 

“You did well tonight,” he said, “goodnight.”

With a click of the lamp, he left the two of you in complete darkness. You tried waiting for his steady breath to ease you to sleep, but it never came. 

-

The weeks that followed were filled with what felt like down time pregnant with foreboding. Cassian did not mention finding Autten again, and you didn’t bother to inquire; instead, he seemed to find small jobs to complete. You planet-hopped throughout the outer rim, honing in on the camps on Kashyyyk, even successfully obtaining security intel for one of the freighters that transported prisoners, granting the Rebellion the access they’d need for a rescue operation when the time was right.

Though there were no scenes quite like there had been on Bespin, you still witnessed Cassian’s natural charm each time he spoke to an informant; with a few, there was nothing but reluctance and uncomfortable tension. With most, Cassian smiled, surely making whomever it was feel just as you had in the market on Malian.

An entire Galactic Standard month had passed when you emerged from the fresher to Cassian cursing loudly from the cockpit.

A holomessage dissipated as you approached his seat, watching warily as he kicked the wall beneath the dash.

“What happened?” you asked disapprovingly, falling into the seat beside him.

“That was the Main Base,” he hissed, not looking at you, “Samovar has lost its legacy status.”

A sinking grief crashed into you, and you slumped against the seat. 

“Damn it,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry, Cassian -

“They’re building a weapon,” he swore, his nose wrinkling with rage. “And it’s my fault,” he spat, bearing his teeth and pointing a finger into his chest. 

“No, it’s not,” you said firmly, straightening and swinging your legs in front of you, facing Cassian. “Autten has no control over what happens on Samovar.”

“Yes, but what if she knew something?” he grated out. “It was stupid of me to not at least try.”

“When I said we go to Coruscant, you said she’d never tell you anything,” you said flatly. “You cannot control the Empire, Cassian. She’s one of them.”

“I know,” he sighed, pinching his bottom lip with his forefinger and thumb. “She knows better. I just did not have it in me to go to her again.”

“And that’s okay,” you replied, and guilt thrashed inside of your chest. It feels like it’s my fault, you thought. 

He cleared his throat, letting his head fall into his hands as his elbows dropped to his knees. 

“I’ll give you some space,” you mumbled, standing to leave, but Cassian grasped your wrist. 

“Forgive me,” he said, releasing you on the spot, “but I don’t need that. Perhaps we can go over what’s next.”

You sat back down, your thigh digging into the arm rest as you sat facing the captain chair. 

“What about your friend? The one on Kafrene,” you suggested lightly. “Aren’t they privy to the Empire?”

He looked like he was searching for reasons in his mind to argue, but found none. 

“Perhaps,” he said distantly. “I can’t quite think straight at the moment.”

“Relax, Cassian,” you whispered. “May I try something?”

You held your hand out, silently asking him to give you his. He obliged, extending his arm out and you took it. Holding it out in front of you, you wrapped your hands around his, massaging his palm with your thumbs. 

“All right,” you said, “when I press here, take a very deep breath. Okay?”

He nodded, and you watched as his eyes flicked between yours and your joined bodies. Between his thumb, you pinched firmly, feeling him draw in air into his lungs shakily. 

“Is this helping?” you asked, watching the shadows of the setting suns cast over his face. 

You’d patched each other up, exchanged tools, handed one another utensils and holobooks and articles of clothing - you’d had enough exchanges that allowed touch. As your knees brushed against him, his hand resting against your thighs as you tried to draw out his tension, it felt like too much and not enough all at once. 

“I believe so, yes,” he whispered, and when you dared to look at him, his expression was sad. 

“Let’s find your friend and move on,” you instructed gently, swirling firm circles into his skin. “There’s still hope.”

“Yes,” he repeated, “there is.”

-

Not three days later, you and Cassian were headed towards The Ring of Kafrene, Cassian confident that he’d find the woman named Phee. A child of the Clone Wars, she lost both her parents in the Battle of Jabiim, and emerged as an extremist with no loyalties; according to Cassian, she worked with whomever benefited her the most, offering what she knew for what aided her own ends. When Cassian appeared, she wanted him. 

Off the ship and through dark and dingy allies you slinked past huddles of troopers, through industrial waste and markets, through a city that felt bled dry.

Cassian’s disposition since receiving the holomessage from Base altered him; there had been very few exchanges between you since. Cassian was a rather stoic man as it was, brittle and tightly wound; when he’d occasionally come undone, it was in the name of the Rebellion, the war. You worried that it was your odd behavior upon his return from the restaurant in Cloud City that impacted his reluctance to find Autten on Coruscant, and your shame was so potent, you hardly ate. The grim mood that hovered in the ship, replacing the quiet and comfortable home the two of you had built, followed you through the rank streets that seemed to wind like a maze as you followed Cassian. 

Before turning a corner, he grabbed you by the wrist, dragging you against a wall. 

“Just as it was before,” he said, “the night you had on the blue dress.”

You knitted your brows together before realizing he was talking about Bespin. 

“I go first, and if anyone asks, I’m waiting for someone,” you said idly, too aware of how close his face was to yours. 

“And it’s not a lie,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

You walked too quickly into the very dark and narrow bar, slinking against walls and slipping past bodies as you found a spot in the very back, your eyes on the door. You ordered an ale - no frills, nothing too sweet for your empty stomach - and cradled the amber bottle as you plugged nonsense into your data pad, the blue light too harsh in the cavernous space you found yourself in. 

It wasn’t a quarter of an hour later when you heard Cassian laugh. 

The sound was a punch to the gut; you weren’t sure if the ale would make your stomach feel better or make you sick, but you took the chance. Bringing it to your lips, you looked beyond the bottle to see Cassian usher a woman towards the bar, pulling a stool out and guiding her into it. 

Autten was elegant and beautiful, but Phee was tempting. Bright red hair like lights that lit up the cities cropped her face, dark makeup only adding to her pall of mystique. A strange and unwelcome corner of your mind told you she looked good sitting so close to Cassian. 

The guise of work fell away, and you rested the bottle on the counter as the noises of the bar swelled in your ears. You were grateful for it; you wished for pulsing music, for a fight to break out, anything to lessen your chances of hearing them. You didn’t make an attempt to avert your eyes as she leaned into him, her curtain of hair obscuring his face as he smiled. 

Sensible thought forsook you as you felt your lungs hollow out when he pressed his lips together, parted them with his tongue. Years of dedication and will were betrayed by your petulant heart as he looked at her like she was his, like he’d missed her, like no one else existed. Not the Rebellion, not you. 

It wasn’t a touch or a sound that made you slide your mostly full ale away, it wasn’t a word or a look, but the blaze in Cassian’s eyes, eyes that had been downcast and pained for weeks filled with light; you jolted out of your stool and it scratched against the sticky floor loudly. You felt them, the objects of your ridiculous rage, follow you as you stalked out of the bar, shouldering past strangers, refusing to meet them with your own. 

You wove through the streets carelessly, a recklessness overtaking you. As you made your way closer to the ship, you tried to work out in your mind what to do. 

Blood pounded in your ears as you punched in your code, as your shaking hands reached for your duffel bag, for your clothes hanging in the metal closet. You had to leave. 

Cassian was one of the best spies in the Rebellion and you were nothing more than a troublesome strategist who’d completely lost their ability to override emotion with logic. You’d let jealousy ruin missions twice now, and you wouldn’t let it happen a third time. Cassian could easily replace you with a more competent assistant and win the Maker-forsaken war without whatever was happening to you also affecting him. 

Instead of a dry sob, true tears swam in your eyes when you heard Cassian return. 

“What was that?” he shouted, still standing in the doorway. 

Refusing to turn to look at him, you became very preoccupied with packing. 

“Why did you leave?” you asked hollowly, your movements stiff. “I don’t need to be there - I’m no use just sitting and watching -“

“What are you doing?” Cassian demanded, his voice low and threatening. “Where are you going?”

“I’m returning to Base,” you said shrilly, finally tossing your pack down and stepping down from the bunk ladder. “I’m resigning as your assistant. I am not capable of performing my duties, therefore -“

“Stop talking nonsense and explain what happened,” Cassian said loudly. 

There was that fire, here came the speech. For the Rebellion. 

“I didn’t realize what the nature of these missions truly were,” you lied; everyone knew of Cassian’s reputation, and he was saluted for it. You once did. “It makes me uncomfortable and I think you need someone more suited to the job.”

“You are more accepting of gore in a war than you are charm?” he spat, and when you turned your back to him to retrieve your bag, he grabbed your forearm. “Would you prefer I drew blood?”

“No,” you said weakly, angry at your voice for wavering. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is it? Would you prefer I use my blaster if I want information? Hmm?” he growled, his face almost impassive with quiet desperation. 

“That’s not what I meant,” you cried softly. 

Cassian did not release your arm, instead he gripped you tighter, as if clinging to you for answers. 

“Then why abandon your duties?” he hissed, tugging your arm towards him. 

“I can’t watch you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He searched your face as his face broke out in understanding. 

“Are you opposed to how this is all done?” he accused defensively.

“No,” you breathed. “It’s a tactic that works. I want to defeat the Empire and I can’t do that here. It’s my fault we lost Autten -“

Cassian scoffed, holding your arm closer to him. 

“You? I decided she was too dangerous to pursue,” he corrected you bitterly.

“Cassian, the way I feel about you isn’t appropriate and it’s costing me our missions,” you shot back tersely, averting your eyes from him.

He paused, the grip on your arm faltering slightly. 

“I’ve done this for the Rebellion,” he began carefully, “everything -“

“I know that,” you interrupted loudly, “and it’s because of whatever’s happening between us that we lost Samovar; this is because of us, this isn’t good for the Rebellion -“

“Everything I do is for the Rebellion!” he shouted. “Everything!”

Silence fell through the ship so fiercely that your ears rang, and your arm was still held so close against Cassian that you felt his chest rise and fall, his nostrils flared and his lips taut as you watched him. 

“You told me you hoped I would find peace,” he whispered. “I won’t let it go.”

You shut your eyes firmly as new tears flooded them, and you pressed your lips together to suppress a small sob. 

“I’ve ruined everything,” you whispered, your heart sinking as his eyes bore into you. “We’re supposed to be fighting a war, and I’ve-“

Cassian released your arm only to slip his hand behind you, and he pulled your body against his as he pressed his lips to yours. Your head swam with a brimming need as your hands, trembling and unsure, fumbled against his shirt, gripping the fabric as Cassian took it as a silent right of passage. He deepened the kiss, bringing another hand to your cheek. 

His lips were soft and lush and so unlike his being; it was as if you’d given him permission to let go of something, and he put everything into the kiss, parting your lips gently with his tongue. You whimpered against his mouth as your palms spread over his abdomen. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered as he broke away, his nose flush against yours. 

“Hush,” he breathed. “Tell me now if you wish me to stop, but don’t say that again.”

“Please, don’t stop,” you whispered.

“I did not think I could have this; I pushed you away,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours. “I have nothing to offer you.”

“This is all I want,” you assured him. 

Without the veil of the Rebellion, the farce of his game that hung like fog over the atmosphere, Cassian’s hands shook as he placed them on your hips, and his parted lips inched back towards yours as he pulled you close. 

It was intoxicating, finally threading your fingers through his dark hair, to be the one to push it from his eyes. You felt him thrumming beneath his skin, reigning in an urge as his fists tightened around the fabric of your shirt, and you allowed your fingers to flutter to the buttons resting against his chest. His breath was ragged as you opened them, exposing the skin beneath. 

He let you peel off his shirt and guided him as he did the same to you, threading his fingertips beneath your tunic, tugging at the seam of your leggings. You fumbled together until your lips were swollen from his and nothing laid between your warm skin, and he held you against him in a pool of your clothes, in the heart of the ship. 

It was an act of delicate impatience, the way he walked you backwards, his messy lips exploring the nape of your neck as he gently guided you into his lower bunk and against his bed. Between you laid the desperate and rushed energy of youth, of inexperience, despite both of your pasts, your years. Cassian was trembling, his veneer of poise stripped away with no motive to propel you besides desire.

“I don’t know how to take care of you,” he confessed, lying on top of you and cradling your face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You knew he meant your heart, you knew he meant how to navigate love amidst a war. Your hand cupped his face.

“I can take care of myself, you know that,” you whispered. “Do you feel anything for me, Cassian?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “But there are risks.”

“I know. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he replied roughly, and his head dipped to envelope your lips into another kiss.

Despite an apparent ripple of disquiet that existed somewhere inside of him that you could sense, Cassian’s hands were tender as he let them glide over your flanks, your skin trailing goosebumps in their wake as his fingertips brushed your stomach. With one hand pressed beside your head, the other firmly gathered your breast, rolling his thumb over your nipple. You arched into him at the touch, and he squeezed harder in response.

There was so much you wanted to give him that it overwhelmed you; there will be time, you swore to yourself. Wordlessly he gripped himself between your bodies, aligning himself with your entrance. You’d heard blushing whispers of Cassian’s skills and you imagined he felt quite like you did as the threat of danger that followed you both mingled with lust and something stronger, creating an air of urgency.

His eyes widened as he gently pressed the tip of himself into you, slick and aching for him, and you nodded fervently, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slowly sunk into you, tongue dragging over yours as you hummed against the stretch.

He used his arms as leverage as he moved in and out of you, your hands sliding down his back as you mapped out his definition, feeling the dips and grooves as you encouraged him with the press of your palms. You brought your knees up higher, allowing him to sink deeper, spurring him to move quicker, harder. A strangled sound tore from his throat and one of his hands flew to your center, the pad of his thumb brushing over your clit. Hurridley but with skill the pressure dragged a moan from you and your eyes clamped shut at the sensation, and his warm breath pooled in your ear as he hummed when you began to tighten around him.

You held onto him tightly when your climax crashed into you, spreading your legs wider for him, and he kept his hand in place until you twitched. He gripped your waist as his pace quickened above you.

You watched his jaw clench together before he kissed you again, one hand clutching your thigh as he nearly snarled, pumping against you firmly a few more times before collapsing between your legs and into your chest.

When he remained there, head pressed against you and your chin resting atop it, your chests beating and rising, you let your fingers comb through his hair.

“You deserve more than what you have, Cassian,” you murmured.

“I know,” he said hoarsely. “I know that. I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“Neither do I,” was all you could say; nothing you could say would soothe him, nor you, so you validated him as he laid there. 

And it was enough.

-

Scarif was a tiny, tepid world, warm and sandy. It was hard to accept in your heart that just across the water from where you sat, the Empire was building something. You and Cassian would explore later, of course, but for now you remained far from detection. 

The sunset was a brilliant blue, and you laid your head in Cassian’s lap as you watched the day fade into night on the beach. A warm, rough fingertip brushed hair from your face.

“It’s lovely here,” you said. 

“It is,” Cassian said, a regretful sorrow tinged in his voice. “I’d like to come back sometime, after the war is over.”

“Let’s do it,” you told him. “It’ll be the first order of business.”

“All right,” he agreed softly, “we’ll come back.”


End file.
